Sand in the Glass
by Auryn Rei Evroren
Summary: A genderbent retelling of the classic Disney movie, with a bit of a dark spin. The city of Agrabah is corrupt from within, and its fate lies in the hands of the reserved Prince Jasmir. But can a prince with no power truly change his destiny? Or is it all going to be up to a simple street rat called Ali?
1. Chapter 1: Invisible

**Hello, prospective readers, I'm your author, Auryn. Some of you may have read my first genderbent Disney fic, "Fathoms Below", based on Disney's "The Little Mermaid". If so, I thank you for your patronage. However, this story is going to come with a disclaimer. Unlike "Fathoms", I intend for "Sand in the Glass" to be a darker, more intense take on the Aladdin story, as well as being a genderbender. I'm writing this one for a more mature audience, so be advised. It will not all be fluffy fun times.  
>Other than that, I have nothing to say this time, except buckle up, kids. Here we go.<strong>

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><p><strong>Sand in the Glass<strong>

_A Genderbent Fanfiction_

_By Auryn Rei Evroren_

Chapter 1: Invisible

The trading city of Agrabah was one of the busiest and most crowded cities within hundreds of leagues. It was noisy, with traders and businessmen shouting to be heard as they peddled their wares, from fish and meat to jewelry and clothing. The sun beat down overhead, sinking into the sand that covered the city. The heat made the entire marketplace feel like a baker's oven, but that hardly deterred its residents. They bustled about making their purchases, covered in scarves to shield them from the sun. Camels, mules, and sheep added to the noise (and the smell) as they waited in pens to become someone's transport or dinner.

In all the hustle and bustle, it was usually quite easy for a person of small stature to wind their way in and out of the throng unnoticed. However, recently, the Agrabah palace and city guards had become somewhat more vigilant in their rounds. They knew who to look for, which people were likely to cause trouble.

The most troublesome of these was Ali. He caused trouble wherever he went, and today was no exception.

"There he is!" came the shouts of the guards, as a slender figure disappeared up a ladder and over a rooftop.

"After him!" hollered Captain Razoul, brandishing his sword. His henchmen scrambled up the ladder as well, though none with such grace as their quarry. Still, they managed. Fumbling and bumbling, the three or four guards made it to the roof...only to find themselves entirely alone.

One of them cursed, another spat. "Lost him again," they growled. "That street rat better watch his back."

Three rooftops over, their prey breathed a sigh of relief. Still, wary eyes darted back and forth, fully aware that the danger had not fully passed. Fingers clenched around the stolen loaf of bread that had caused all of this ruckus. It would be another half hour or so before the guards really gave up. Best to lay low until then.

Sighing, the thief took up his race once again. With bare feet toughened by life without shoes, he leaped from one rooftop to the next, dodging clotheslines and roof gardens, headed eastward.

An incense burner hung in a window in one of the buildings toward the edge of the marketplace. The thief ducked inside that window, careful not to disturb the burner. He sank to the floor with his back to the wall, clutching his stolen meal with pride. His eyes closed in a momentary thanks to Allah for his escape.

"Getting into trouble a bit early today, aren't we?" came a smooth voice from across the room. The shrouded woman who sat there amidst a pile of decorative pillows did not seem in the slightest bit disturbed by the sudden appearance of a bread thief in her room.

Ali cracked an eyelid, his signature smirk already spreading across his face.

"You're only in trouble if you get caught," he quipped. "And I never get caught."

The lady laughed, the corners of her eyes crinkling with mirth.

"Of course, I should have known," she said lightly, her musical voice the low, enticing tone of a woman who lived her life to please men. "No one could ever catch the daring Ali, the greatest thief in all Agrabah."

She stood and removed her headscarf, revealing a beautiful young lady, somewhere in her early twenties. Her long black hair hung loosely down her back, where it would usually be hidden with the scarf.

"You look so thin," she commented, her caramel eyes concerned. "Have you been eating at all lately?"

"That's why I have _this,_ Isra," Ali groaned, rolling his eyes and holding up the bread. "Besides, I'm always thin, you say it every time. I'm _fine._"

"Don't take that tone with me, Alidah," Isra shot back.

At the sound of her real name, Ali flinched. She- for he was, in fact, a she -held her precious bread close to her chest, eyes downcast and moody.

"I thought I asked you not to call me that," she mumbled, a shamed blush dusting her olive cheeks.

Isra clicked her tongue as she busied herself straightening up the room.

"And I thought you were done hiding here," she replied, entirely unfazed by Alidah's behavior. "Where's Abu?"

"It can't be helped," Ali said, turning to glance out the window. "We got separated, and we hadn't worked out a new rendezvous yet. We'll be gone as soon as he shows up, don't worry."

The two women sank into silence as they waited. Isra watched Ali closely from beneath lowered lashes, checking her over for injuries or ill health. Though they were the same age, Isra was the one who took care of Ali (when she could). Her life at one of Agrabah's several houses of ill-repute left her without the resources to do much more than keep herself from being out on the street like Ali. Still, Isra had always been willing to help in any small way that she could.

Isra sighed. "Are you sure about all this?" she asked softly. "I know it's not the best situation, but a job like mine at least pays for food. Is it so much better to be stealing and running from the guards?

Ali shrugged, not meeting her friend's eyes.

"I couldn't stand this," she explained. "It's not for me. I'd rather be free and starve."

"Besides," Ali added with a wink. "Alidah alone on the street is a recipe for disaster, but as we both know, Ali gets by just fine."

Isra shook her head. She had heard the litany many times, and knew that Alidah was probably right. The streets of Agrabah were no place for a single young girl. When the problems had begun, and Alidah found herself without a home, she had been much younger. Slavers and con men would have found her easy pickings, and more likely than not, she would have found herself at the mercy of those who dealt in pleasure slaves. Some chose that life, as Isra had done, but Isra felt strongly that it should never be forced upon anyone. Still, that didn't mean she had to like the life Ali had woven for herself.

On the surface, she was a plain street rat like any other. There were more than a few in Agrabah. With her ebony hair clumsily cut short and her face smeared with dirt, it was impossible to tell Alidah from the next starving orphan. She bound her chest, for safety, and wore a loose violet shirt with the sleeves torn off. Her dirty, once-white harem pants, red fez, and red waist sash could have belonged to anyone. She blended into the scenery like a chameleon. She was invisible.

And thus, Alidah had become Ali, the fastest and most bothersome of the Agrabah street rats. For the moment, she successfully lived day-to-day...but what would become of her, Isra wondered, when she could no longer run? It was this thought that troubled her most.

A loud screeching sound from the window yanked Isra out of her own thoughts and back to her bedroom. Casting her eyes about, she found a small brown monkey sitting on the sill, chattering noisily. He wore a small violet vest and a red fez that matched Ali's clothes, an outward symbol of their inner partnership. The monkey raised his fist and shook it at Ali, clearly irritated with her.

"I get it, I'm sorry Abu!" Ali said, exasperated. She got to her feet, breaking off a small piece of her bread loaf for Abu. "If I'd known there would be that many, we wouldn't have had to split up." She rolled her eyes and dug in to her part of the bread, eating as though she'd never even seen food before.

Isra reached out a hand and petted Abu smoothly on his head. The little monkey grinned, used to her kind treatment.

"There are more guards about than usual, today," she commented off-hand. "It only gets like this on important days. The prince must be returning from his journey to Sharaj."

"Wha's wif all da comin' an goin'?" Ali asked through a mouthful of food.

"Manners, Alidah," Isra reprimanded, returning to her seat across the room. "I assume the prince is courting princesses across the lands, otherwise the Sultan would go with him. He must be looking to marry."

Ali snorted at the thought of something so trivial as marriage.

"I hope he finds a spoiled brat just like him," she said sardonically. "They'll have a perfect wedding, rich, spoiled lives, and rich, spoiled children. They probably won't care any more about this city than the Sultan does."

Isra chuckled. She knew well Ali's opinion on how the city functioned. The number of poor and desolate citizens was growing by the day. The guards wasted their time running after those like Ali, who were forced into stealing just so they could survive, while the real criminals drew the city farther and farther into the shadows every day.

"Who would you have running Agrabah, then?" Isra quipped lightly. "You?"

Ali snorted again. "Oh sure," she said, sarcasm dripping from her tongue. "Let me just waltz right on up to the palace and say, 'Hey there, Your Majesty Sultan Sir, how about making me your princess instead?'"

"Of course my dear," Isra answered, putting on her best 'Sultan' voice, "All you have to do is marry my son, the prince!"

Grinning, Ali threw up her hands. "Well, I guess it's a no-go then," she said, laughing. "Good luck with that whole city-spiraling-into-despair thing."

Still chuckling, she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, and signaled to Abu that was time to go. Her trusty sidekick hopped up onto her shoulder, stuffing the rest of his bread into his mouth. Ali crossed to the window, and took a quick look around for any guards before leaning out.

"Be careful," Isra called after her.

"Always am," Ali replied, a grin on her face. Then, in a flash of white and violet, she was gone.

Isra settled back into her pillows, smiling to herself. She lay back to take nap before her evening customers arrived, hoping that her dreams would be filled with Ali's daring adventures.

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><p>The loud heat of the marketplace stood in stark contrast to the peaceful serenity encompassed in the royal palace of Agrabah. Rough sand and brass were replaced by green trees, cool fountains, and fixtures of marble and gold. The Sultan spared no expense; the air was thick with the scents of expensive sandalwood and jasmine. Still, for all its beauty, the royal palace held one particular trait that many in Agrabah would almost kill for: silence.<p>

There was very little noise at the palace. One generally heard only the sound of water trickling through the various fountains, or occasionally the wind through imported bells and chimes. There were no raised voices here. The residents of the palace were considered above such frivolity.

In the courtyard, however, a sound reverberated through the air that very few people wanted to deal with: The deep growl of a tiger.

Prince Jasmir of Agrabah lay on his back on the edge of the large courtyard fountain, staring up at the endless sky above him. His caramel skin gleamed in the sunlight, a result of many varieties of scented oil. He was dressed in the standard turquoise pants and vest of his station as prince, accented with gold bangles and earrings. His dark eyes were deadened and dissatisfied, as a result of his most recent courting mission.

The prince's loyal pet, the Bengal tiger Rajah, paced back and forth across the courtyard entryway, growling his own frustration. His tail switched back and forth, and his ears were flattened. Between his sharp ivory teeth rested the ragged, torn remains of what must have once been a sheer purple veil. Neither prince nor pet enjoyed the responsibility of courting princesses.

"_Diamlah_, Rajah," Jasmir muttered, running his fingers through his charcoal black hair. "I know you don't like it."

The tiger narrowed his brows at his master, unconvinced by his order of silence, but he lay down on his stomach and ceased his growling, lest someone come to find them. Unfortunately, Rajah's noise seemed to have attracted the one person who would not be deterred even by an angry tiger.

"Jasmir!" came the almost amusingly high voice of the Sultan. It sounded close by. "Jasmir! Oh, where has he gone off to this time? _Jasmir!"_

The prince rolled his eyes. "Now you've done it," he mumbled to his striped companion.

Seconds later, the Sultan appeared in the doorway. He was a squat, plump little man, made only the more comical in appearance by his large Sultan's turban. He wore all cream and turquoise, as befit the ruler of Agrabah. His beard and mustache were white as snow, though he colored his eyebrows with kohl. At his full height, the Sultan only stood up to Jasmir's chest, but that didn't deter him from bothering his son one bit.

Tugging the sheer fabric in Rajah's mouth, the Sultan adopted a grumpy expression. "So this is where you disappeared to," he observed grouchily. "The princess of Sharaj is telling everyone that you told your ferocious pet to eat her, and stormed off." He pulled harder on the fabric, but Rajah did not want to let it go.

Sighing, Jasmir sat up. "Rajah," he called. "_Biarlah._"

Instantly, the once-veil was released, sending the poor Sultan reeling backward. He fell on his royal behind, leaving the prince to come help him up.

"Why your mother let you have a pet that only you can control I will never know," the Sultan declared, as Jasmir pulled him to his feet. He threw up his hands in exasperation.

"Father, you like Rajah and you know it," Jasmir said stonily. "And I did not tell him to eat anyone. I simply took my leave when I felt it was appropriate."

"You did _what?_" The Sultan exclaimed.

"Apparently the princess and I have differing opinions about when it was appropriate," Jasmir clarified with a shrug. He returned to his spot at the fountain's edge, trailing his fingers through the clear blue water. "We weren't getting anywhere anyway," he mumbled.

"Jasmir," his father whined, tottering over until they stood face to face. "You were supposed to have found your bride months ago! The law is very specific, you've only got until your birthday to marry, or you forfeit your right to the throne!"

The prince ignored him. This was a conversation that had passed between them countless times, and it went the same way every time.

"Father," Jasmir said patiently, "Even if I don't marry in the next three days, who do you think is going to refuse me the throne? We don't even have distant relatives that could come to claim it. No one actually cares. I'm not going to marry someone I can't stand just to please a scroll of parchment."

"But the law says-" the Sultan protested.

Jasmir turned away, hiding his face from his father.

"I _do not care_ what the law says, Father," he said. His voice was soft, but firm. "If I marry at all, I'll do it for someone I truly love. My right to control this city should not be based on whether or not I have a wife."

Sensing his son's discomfort, the Sultan's gaze softened. He took a seat next to Jasmir, placing a small hand on his arm. The prince still refused to meet his eyes.

"It's not just this law, you know," the Sultan said softly. "I just want...I want to know that you're taken care of."

Jasmir snorted.

"What am I, a sniveling princess?" he said cynically, pulling his arm out of his father's grasp.

The Sultan rolled his eyes, but kept his sharper commentary to himself. Jasmir was a good enough sort as boys go, but he was not always the strong, sure-minded person he often pretended to be.

"You know what I mean, Jasmir," his father said, exasperated. "I'm not going to be around forever, and I'd like to know that you've got everything in hand. Don't you think a wise and caring Queen would serve you well?"

"Not if I don't actually _like_ her, Father," Jasmir replied with a sigh. He was weary of this argument, it was so royally useless. "I do not want to have this discussion again, can we please let it go?"

The Sultan sniffed.

"You've been on a long journey, of course you're tired and need to rest," he said diplomatically. The scowl on his face, however, made it clear that this conversation was not over. "I'll expect you at dinner, perhaps we can speak more about it then. Is that agreeable?"

"Not in the slightest," Jasmir grumbled.

Frustrated, the Sultan got to his feet. His face turned a fascinating shade of plum. "Allah forbid you should have such a troublesome child," he said under his breath. Then he turned on his tiny heel and marched off, muttering all the way.

Jasmir exhaled heavily, and fell back onto the fountain's edge on his back. He let his hand fall limply to his side. "Rajah," he called softly. "_Kemari._ Come here."

Moments later, the warm fuzz of the tiger's head butted against his free hand. The deep rumble of a large cat's purr emanated from Rajah's chest.

"I know," Jasmir whispered, answering the silent question that hung in the air. "We can't keep this up, I can't be this..._invisible_...much longer."

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><p>His mind overburdened, the prince of Agrabah lay awake for half the night, hoping that by sheer willpower alone he could make his problems disappear. However, that was just not how the world worked. By the tenth bell, he had been through his wallowing and his discomfort, and had moved on to practical thought. By the eleventh, the mechanisms in his mind were turning furiously, sorting out the best course of action. By the twelfth, he had a plan.<p>

The moon rose high overhead, casting a blue-white glow over the marble palace walls. The nocturnal animals of menagerie chattered as usual, but otherwise, there was no sound to be heard. The palace residents were all abed, for which the prince was very thankful. It was going to make his grand escape all the easier.

He had thrown the plain brown garb of a commoner over his jewel-toned royal clothes. In this simple dirty shirt and pants, he could have been anyone. He made his way quietly and carefully across the courtyard, his familiar striped shadow right behind him, as usual. Jasmir had thusfar tried every trick he knew to get Rajah to stay behind, but the tiger seemed insistent on being with his master.

When they reached the palace wall near the great olive tree, the prince turned and dropped to one knee. Rajah padded over to him, head-butting his master in the chest.

"I know, Rajah," Jasmir murmured, stroking the tiger's head gently. "But as long as they refuse to let me really act like the prince, I might as well not be one." He cast his searching gaze up at the moon overhead. "Perhaps I'll find a better way out there."

Rajah whined softly, but when Jasmir went to stand, the cat made no attempt to stop him.

The prince braced his hands on the lowest branch of the olive tree, pulling himself up among its leaves. This tree was particularly old, and its twists and bends would provide him fairly easy access across the palace wall.

As he reached for the next branch, however, a noise stopped Jasmir in his tracks. He turned, and saw the light of an oil lamp growing across the courtyard. _The midnight rounds,_ he thought, panicked. _If the guards see anything..._

"Rajah," he hissed. The tiger's ears perked up. "_Maji!_"

Instantly, a low growl erupted from the tiger's open jaws. Ever loyal to his master's commands, he broke into a run, racing across the courtyard as though in pursuit of something, until the tip of his orange striped tail disappeared into the lamplight. Seconds later, the sounds of multiple _thuds_ and muffled cursing told the prince that his diversion had worked.

"Thank you," he whispered after his feral friend. Then, without a moment to lose, Prince Jasmir of Agrabah vanished over the wall, and away from everything he knew. He did not know what lay in store...only that it had to be better than staying here.

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><p><strong>Credits for the commands Jasmir uses with Rajah go to one of my absolute favorite authors, Tamora Pierce, from her Beka Cooper trilogy.<strong>

**In today's Rajah Glossary...  
><em>Diamlah: <em>"quiet"  
><em>Biarlah: <em>"let it go"  
><em>Kemari: <em>"come"  
><em>Maji: <em>"go"**


	2. Chapter 2: Don't You Trust Me?

**Hello, darling readers. Here is chapter 2, written just for you. I knew it was what you always wanted. As always, please read and review, and if you like how the story's going, don't be afraid to share the link with your friends!  
>Love,<br>Auryn**

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><p><strong>Sand in the Glass<strong>

_A Genderbent Fanfiction_

_By Auryn Rei Evroren_

Chapter 2: Don't You Trust Me?

Alidah's back ached from the incredibly difficult position she had to hold in order to avoid the fruit vendor's wary gaze. She hung dangerously from her knees over one of the stall's support beams, in the shadowy back corner, with her ankles crossed overhead. From there, she arched her back as much as she could, so she could see the target of her acrobatics. The large stack of fresh red apples almost shone in the sunlight. It made for a tantalizing picture, which was certainly a mistake in a city full of this many thieves.

The vendor himself, currently occupied in an argument with the owner of the brassware stall next door, was a large and burly man who was known for his watchful eye. He feared no thief, and more than one unfortunate soul had lost a pilfering hand to his blade. His wares were the best in the marketplace, and the intimidating man knew it. It was common knowledge that to steal from him, one had to possess innate skill- or a death wish. Ali was one of the only street rats in Agrabah brave enough to give it a try.

As she stretched her thin arm down toward the apple pile, Ali fervently prayed that the pair of marketplace sellers would continue their argument long enough for her to not only retrieve her prize, but also make a decent escape. If she had to make a mad dash for freedom this early in the afternoon, it would mean that the guards would be much more watchful all evening long, reducing her chances of further acquisitions.

The smooth skin of the apple was almost slippery against her rough palm. Ali breathed a sigh of relief, and made to pull herself back up to the support beam, when a flash of movement caught her eye. She turned to look, and the blood drained from her face.

A small street boy, obviously one of the many young orphans that wandered freely around the city, had noticed the enticing apple pile as well. He huddled in the shadows to the side of the stall, staring longingly at the fruit with wide eyes. He couldn't have been more than five or six years old, but the lack of serious tears or tatters in his clothes indicated that he hadn't been on the streets long. The way he looked at those apples, Ali could tell that he was planning to try and steal one too. _He'll never manage it,_ she thought, panicked.

Painstakingly carefully, Ali raised her free hand and waved it, hoping to catch the boy's attention. When his puppy-dog eyes looked her way, she gestured for him to hold up his hands. Mystified, he did so, cupping them together. A moment later, the shiny red apple that had been in Alidah's hand _thumped_ into his waiting palms. When the little boy looked up again, Ali gave him a wink, and shooed him away, lest he get caught with the stolen goods. Her eyes closed, relieved, when he scampered away into the distance.

Now twice as pressed for time, Ali returned her attention to the pile of apples. She had scant seconds, probably, to retrieve another one and vanish before the vendor realized she was there. Stretching her arm out once more, Ali reached for the next closest apple. Her fingers brushed across its skin, but she couldn't quite reach it. If she could just stretch a _little_ farther...

"Hey! You there!"

Ali's blood ran cold at the sound of the phrase she hated most of all.

"_Stop, thief!"_

A rough hand wrapped itself around her slender wrist, dragging her forcefully down from her hanging place. She hit the ground hard, adding a possible strained shoulder to her list of cons for the day. Ali twisted and turned, frantically trying to free herself from the vendor's iron grip, to no avail. The man was a beast; his bulk alone gave him all of the advantage he needed over someone as small in stature as Ali.

"How _dare_ you," he hissed, pulling her close to his face. His hot, foul breath sent shivers up her spine. _"No one_ steals from my cart!"

Glaring as menacingly as she could, Ali let out a feral screech as she fought against his hold. She knew she had only seconds to make her escape, lest the worst should happen. The marketplace's attendees certainly thought it would, for they had begun to gather when they heard the commotion. This was one of the most entertaining parts of coming to the marketplace, after all.

Ali's heart sank when the vendor reached behind his cart with his free hand, drawing out a short silver curved sword.

"You know what the penalty is for stealing, street rat?" the vendor growled. He lifted the blade and brandished it at her bare wrist, ready to strike.

"Stop right there!" came a commanding voice from the crowd.

The street went silent. The vendor froze in place, glaring around for the source of the noise. An unfamiliar young man pushed his way to the front of the crowd, a stony expression on his face. He was tall, standing eye-to-eye with the fruit seller, though his build was much slimmer. Once she found the intense depth of his charcoal eyes, Ali found that she couldn't look away.

The young man crossed his arms over his chest.

"You can't possibly believe that this is the fairest way to deal with a petty thief," his said firmly. "Release him at once, and let the city guard do their job."

"This doesn't concern you, _boy_," the vendor sneered. "This street rat stole from me, and I will give him the punishment he deserves."

"But this is madness," the young man protested.

Angrily, the vendor jerked at Ali's arm, causing her yelp in pain. If she made it out of this with an attached hand, it was going to be covered in bruises. Her heart was beating fast. Out of the corner of her eye, Ali caught a flash of movement, a streak of brown fur. Her brows narrowed in concentration, as the cool kiss of metal touched her ankle.

"Begone, boy," the vendor snarled. "Go bother someone else. Either I take his hand or the guard does, but it's no business of yours."

Without another word, he raised his sword, and brought it down with brutelike strength.

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><p>The crowd gasped as one, as the vendor raised his blade. Jasmir opened his mouth to protest yet again, but before he could even so much as cry out, the chaos had broken loose in a loud <em>clang<em> of metal against metal.

Blinking quickly, Jasmir tried to discern what had just happened. The thief suddenly held a large brass stewpot in one hand, and had managed to stave off the fruit vendor's initial attack. Immediately, the marketplace was an explosion of sound and motion. The thief dived past the vendor, coming up on his other side. He threw up his pot just in time, as the now very angry man struck again. The vendor attacked again and again, swinging his black and hollering like a madman. His face was bright red with rage.

In contrast, the look in the thief's eyes was wary and calculating. He moved quickly, dodging more strikes than he blocked, but he was running out of space. The crowd of people was yelling, pressing themselves in on all sides. Soon, he would be trapped.

Hastily, Jasmir turned from side to side, searching for some way to help. Fortune favored him, and the woman who stood next to him had just purchased what appeared to be a large bag of flour. The incognito prince thrust his hands into the bag (ignoring all protest from the woman), and, gathering as much of it as he could, threw a cloud of flour at the fruit vendor.

For a moment, no one could see. The vendor screamed in anger as the white cloud obscured his vision completely. Somewhere in the crowd, children shrieked their displeasure. When the flour-fog cleared, the vendor was covered in white splotches, and the thief was nowhere to be found. As Jasmir had hoped, he had used the distraction to make his escape.

"Cursed street rat!" the vender howled. He scowled, searching the crowd for a single turned back, but found none. His bloodshot eyes settled on a very uncomfortable Jasmir.

"You!" he barked, lumbering toward the prince. "You meddlesome, filthy brat-"

Before he could get another word out, a small brown mop of fur appeared, launching itself from the fruit stall's canvas roof, landing on the vendor's head. Looking closer, Jasmir realized that the little mop was actually a monkey, one of the little rhesus type that rich people tended to have imported for pets. There were more than one in the palace menagerie. It screeched wildly, shoving its little fingers at the vendor's eyes. He yelled and writhed, waving wildly as he tried to shake the little monkey off.

A warm hand circled around Jasmir's wrist.

"This way," a soft voice whispered in his ear.

And then he was running, faster than he had ever run before in his life. The apple thief kept a strong grip on his hand, pulling him along as fast as he could go.

"Come on, Abu!" the thief called over his shoulder. As the fruit stall fell out of sight, the angered hollering of the stall's vendor faded into the distance.

The streets of Agrabah raced past in a blur of sandy tan, but neither thief nor prince dared to slow down. They turned a sharp corner, panting with effort, and the little monkey came leaping down from the rooftop. The thief didn't slow even a little bit as the monkey landed gracefully on his shoulder.

"Where are we going?" Jasmir called, coughing into his free hand.

"Anywhere but here!" the thief responded. He released Jasmir's hand, apparently now confident that he could keep up. He slowed a little, but kept up a steady pace. With Jasmir in his wake, the thief switched from speed to agility and confusion. He began taking more turns, cutting through alleys and little-used streets, to throw off anyone who might have followed. He even had them climb over a chest-high fence at one point. Still, Jasmir followed him, keeping his questions to himself...for a while.

Eventually, he gave up.

"Hey," he called, as the thief ducked into yet another darkened alley. "Who are you, anyway?"

The thief paused, tossing a cautious look over his shoulder. He met the gaze of his monkey friend, and after a moment, the pair of them shrugged in unison.

"Ali," he said lightly. "My name's Ali."

He turned back and kept moving, but at a slower pace. "This is Abu," he called, pointing at the monkey on his shoulder, who chittered his own greeting.

"Abu," Jasmir said, turning over the name on his tongue. "That's interesting."

"And who're you, new kid?" Ali asked.

"New kid?" Jasmir repeated, confused.

"You have to be new to Agrabah, if you thought you could stop that man just by talking to him," Ali clarified. He finally turned off of the street, into what appeared to be an abandoned building. The walls had large chunks torn out of them, and the whole place looked about ready to collapse, but Ali didn't even pause. He just took off up the old stone stairs, to what remained of a second floor. Jasmir followed, eyes glued to Ali's back.

"What was I supposed to do, just let him cut off your hand?" he said, a hint of bitterness in his voice. "He had to have been mad."

"It's the law," Ali replied absently. "In case you didn't notice, I was breaking it."

"Don't tell me anyone takes that punishment seriously, though," countered Jasmir.

Ali stopped in his tracks, halfway up the steps. Surprised, Jasmir ran straight into him. As he stepped back to get his bearings, he realized that Ali was suddenly looking at him very seriously. His eyes had instantly become shadowed, nearly scowling.

"You really don't know anything, do you?" he said darkly. "_Everyone_ takes it seriously. That's just how this city works. That vendor was right, either he would have taken my hand or the guards would have."

"No way," Jasmir breathed. "But that's..."

"Mad, I know," Ali replied, turning back and continuing on up the steps. "Welcome to Agrabah."

From that point on, Jasmir followed in silence. This afternoon had been a shock, to be sure, but this was the hardest part yet. _Father always made that sound like such a petty law, like it was just ceremonial,_ he mused. _I had no idea that anyone would actually maim someone so seriously for such a little thing. It was just an __**apple**__._

They reached the top of the stairs. There were tattered pillows and torn rugs everywhere, and even a cracked oil lamp in the corner. Glancing around, Jasmir deduced that this must be where Ali lived. His thoughts sank even further, as he realized what it must be like, to be a- what was that charming term the fruit vendor had used? 'Street rat'?

"Hey," Ali said, falling back to nudge his new acquaintance. "Quit brooding over it, it's just a marketplace scuffle."

"You could have lost your hand," Jasmir said seriously.

"Just like any other day of the week," Ali shot back, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "You just do what you've gotta do to survive around here, and try not to let it get to you." Chuckling, the thief flopped onto a pile of pillows on the far side of the 'room', next to a makeshift window (the result of a wall cave-in, which Ali had tastefully covered with a ragged curtain).

"So, this is where you live?" Jasmir asked, in the interest of starting conversation.

"Yep," Ali said brightly. "Just me and Abu. It's not much, but it's ours. We come and go as we please. Plus it's got a great view." He signaled to Abu, who chattered excitedly and pulled back the curtain on the window. Where Jasmir expected to be blown away, he found his heart sinking quickly.

The view that Ali seemed to like so much was a skyline of Agrabah, with the grand splendor of the royal palace rising up in the glow of sunset. From here, you couldn't see very far down into the scum of the city, which was most likely was Ali liked about it. Had it been anyone other than the runaway prince of Agrabah, they might have found it as amazing as Ali indicated. As it was, Jasmir honestly thought he might be sick. Keeping his face as schooled as possible, the prince tried to nod appreciatively.

"It's wonderful, I'm sure," he murmured.

"Don't sound so excited," Ali teased. He propped himself up on his hands so he could see, a warm smile on his face. "It's incredible. This way, there's always something better on the horizon, you know?"

"Oh, sure," Jasmir quipped, unable to stop himself. "Being told what to do, when and where to go, how to dress, how to act- not being able to make a single choice of your own sounds just _incredible_."

"It's got to be better than here," Ali said with a sigh. "True, going to sleep at night wondering how long it is before you lose a functioning hand has it's own charm, but I for one could live without it."

They fell into an uncomfortable silence, neither sure what was appropriate to say. Jasmir feared he might have offended Ali by voicing his opinion, but it was something he just didn't want to keep to himself any more. _I left home so I could be myself,_ he reasoned mentally. _It wouldn't have been worth it if I kept lying now._

Ali eventually cleared his throat.

"I meant to thank you, by the way," he said softly. "I was in real trouble back there. If you hadn't shown up, I probably would have one less hand now."

"Oh," Jasmir replied, blushing slightly. "It was nothing. I mean, I don't think I really helped. It seemed like I was just making it worse."

"But you said something," Ali said. His expression softened. "Not many people would even try to look out for someone like me. Street rats don't usually have very many friends."

At that, Jasmir couldn't help but smile. "Well, now you can count one more," he said, holding out his hand. Ali grinned, and held up his hand. They firmly grasped forearms, as Abu leaped about the small room to show off his excitement. Jasmir took a seat on the ground next to Ali, already feeling better than he had in a long time.

"So, where you from?" Ali asked.

"Nowhere," Jasmir answered instantly. "At least, nowhere that matters."

Ali nodded. "Runaway, then," he said shrewdly. "There's more than a few of those around here. I'm guessing something's not great at home?"

"It's my father," Jasmir explained. "He's got this crazy idea that if I don't get married soon, he'll die and the...family business," he lied quickly, "-will fall to pieces. Allah forbid I be a competent person on my own. I don't know what he thinks a wife would do for me that I don't already do myself."

Ali snorted. "You've got enough of a conscience to save a street rat like me from certain maiming, just because it seemed unfair," he said, clapping Jasmir on the back. "I think that makes you about good enough for anything. It puts you a step ahead of the Sultan, that's for sure."

Jasmir cocked his head to the side, confused. "The Sultan?" he asked.

Ali waved a hand, dismissing the thought. "Ignore me, I just have problems with a leader who lets the city get this bad without ever doing anything about it," he muttered. "This place is a sinkhole, there's nothing but corruption and hate here. The high-level crime lords rule in all but name, driving the middle classes poorer and poorer. The marketplace vendors are all in someone's pocket. The prices for decent goods rise faster than folks can keep up with, so they have to make do with less and less."

The aura in the room went cold. Jasmir's eyes grew wide, listening to Ali's account of Agrabah. It was one thing to know in his mind that they were from two different worlds, but another entirely to hear just how different those worlds were. It hurt like a dagger to the chest, that such a person suffered so much in the city that Jasmir and his father were charged with protecting and ruling.

"Every day there get to be more people like me in this city," Ali murmured. "And the guards don't give a damn. As long as they meet their arrest quota, they don't care who gets hurt, or whether or not its fair."

"It sounds horrible," Jasmir whispered. "No one should have to live like that."

Ali let out a barking laugh. "So just run away," he joked hollowly. "You're doing so well at it already."

"Come with me, then," Jasmir challenged, giving his new friend a playful punch. "We could join a caravan tonight, vanish into the desert and never look back. After a million miles or so we might start really feeling free of it."

Ali smiled, and shook his head. "I couldn't leave this place," he admitted. "It may be a little corner of hell, but it's still my home."

Jasmir's smile disappeared. He cast his charcoal gaze to the floor.

"I'm sure you'll find a way to make it better," he offered. "It sounds like you're the kind of person who really cares about others. For example, not just anyone would risk their life just to give a child an apple."

Ali jerked upright, an astounded look on his face.

"You saw that?" he asked, surprised. When Jasmir nodded, Ali had to stifle a laugh. He raked his fingers through his short, clumsily shorn hair. "I just knew he was going to try it," the thief said with a shrug. "I couldn't have stopped him, but if someone was going to get caught, better me than him."

"That's fair," Jasmir conceded. "It's-"

A loud, crashing sound interrupted the prince's next sentence, followed by a booming shout.

"_Here you are!"_

Instantly, Ali was on his feet, Abu leaping onto his shoulder. As Jasmir frantically followed suit, he found that the staircase was blocked by no less than _five_ of Agrabah's city guards. His face paled.

_Father must have sent them looking for me,_ Jasmir thought, panicked.

"They found us," Ali growled. He reached over and grasped Jasmir's arm, pulling him away, toward the window, as the guards advanced. He spun the prince around, bracing his hands on his shoulders. His deep eyes were deadly serious.

"Now or never, new kid," he said roughly. "Get ready to jump."

"What?" Jasmir stammered.

Ali laughed and pushed him onto the broken wall's edge. The city streets seemed to spin below him.

"What's the matter, don't you trust me?" he said wickedly, and shoved the prince out the window.

* * *

><p>The wind whistled in Ali's ears as they fell, and she threw a quick prayer to Allah that they would make it out of this alive. Next to her, the new boy was shaking like a leaf as the ground sped closer and closer.<p>

Just before the expected _splat_, Ali reached out and caught her companion's arm. Next, she threw out her other hand and snagged a nearby clothesline to slow their fall. The resulting jerk sent a bloom of pain jolting up the thief's arm, but it did achieve the desired outcome. Using the clothesline as a fulcrum, the pair were able to swing to the side, landing in a clumsy tuck-and-roll that probably left both of them with some impressive bruises.

Ali staggered to her feet, dragging her friend with her. They raced toward the end of the street, hoping to start a rat race just like before, but the moment they turned the corner, Ali found herself running straight into the captain of the guard himself. She collided with his barrel chest head-on. A second later, his meaty fist had a chunk of her hair, and was forcing her still.

"Run!" she hollered to her friend, as Captain Razoul threw her mercilessly to the ground. From there, many more hands grabbed at her arms, her legs, her shoulders. They hauled her back to a standing position, forcing her hands behind her back. It took two guards to hold her still, as Ali fought tooth and nail to get away.

"It's the dungeon for you, boy," Razoul hissed, grinning like a madman.

Ali whipped her head back and forth, searching for her companion. When she found him, her eyes went wide as saucers.

He had thrown off his tattered brown shirt, revealing the beaded and jeweled vest of the incredibly rich. On his head had appeared, as though by magic, a simple golden circlet.

He strode forward, grasping the captain by the shoulder.

"Unhand him," he said coldly, applying enough pressure to force Razoul to face him. "By order of the prince."

When the captain saw who his quarry really was, his mouth fell open.

"Prince Jasmir," he stammered, aghast. Immediately, he dropped to one knee. The guards who held Ali followed suit, forcing their prisoner to bow with them. Ali trembled with complete and utter shock, as she struggled to comprehend that the boy who had saved her life today was, in actuality, the son of the ruler of the city. Her blood almost froze in her veins when she realized the gravity of everything she had said about the Sultan and the rule of the city. Suddenly, it wasn't just friendly chatter anymore.

"What are you doing outside the palace, my prince?" Captain Razoul was saying. "If the Sultan knew-"

"That is none of your concern, captain," Jasmir intoned, drawing himself up to his full height. His voice resonated with hidden power, enough to make Ali gulp. "Now, do as I command. Release him."

Razoul rose to his feet, a smirking sneer on his face. "I would, my prince," he replied with a humble bow, "But my orders come from the Royal Vizier. I'm afraid you'll have to take it up with him."

The last thing Ali saw of Prince Jasmir was the burning rage in his ebony eyes, before the guards gruffly wrenched her away. As they dragged her off down the street, toward the palace dungeons, she could have sworn she heard the echo of Jasmir's voice.

"_Oh, believe me, captain...I will do just that."_


	3. Chapter 3: In A Pinch

**Author's Note: Hey everyone! I'm so sorry this chapter took forever. I won't bore you with the details, but suffice to say that I've got a LOT going on. I'm still doing everything I can, though! I just implore that everyone remember, I'm a real person with a real life, so sometimes that means I have to put down the laptop for a while. It does make it harder to write when I feel like all my reviewers want from me is more, more, more...so maybe when you review, try putting in your real opinion of what I've already written? Tell me what you like and what you don't, it's much more helpful that way. Begging for updates is fine, but be careful- pressured writers aren't always good ones.**

**Please enjoy this chapter, and keep reading!  
>Auryn<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Sand in the Glass<strong>

_A Genderbent Fanfiction_

_By Auryn Rei Evroren_

Chapter 3: In A Pinch

The slam of the large, ornate doors to the judicial wing echoed loudly enough to catch the attention of the entire palace. The Royal Vizier, Jafar, looked up from his work, his mahogany desk covered in various scrolls and other documents. For such a busy desk, it was remarkably well-organized. Jafar was the type of person who liked to have everything firmly in hand, and under his control.

He was a thin, wiry man, almost frighteningly slim, somewhere in his forties. He stood a head taller than the prince, which meant he dwarfed anyone of ordinary stature. The squat little Sultan and his beanstalk of a Royal Vizier made an absolutely comical picture. Jafar's face, however, showed no humor whatsoever. He had his jet-black beard trimmed into a stylish goatee, and blackened his lids and lashes with dark kohl. He was tireless in his work, which gave him dark circles beneath his eyes, and his hooked nose looked as though it might have been broken once or twice in the past. All in all, the Royal Vizier was an imposing figure, whom very few opposed. The prince, however, had always been less-than-accepting of his father's chief advisor, and the present moment was no exception.

Prince Jasmir of Agrabah strode into the room, his expression livid. As expected of him, Jafar rose to his feet, a canny smile on his face.

"My prince," he addressed Jasmir, his deep voice slick as butter. "How may I be of service to you?"

Halting in front of Jafar's desk, Jasmir crossed his arms over his chest, brows knit in anger. "Your oh-so-proficient city guard just arrested an undeserving person from the streets, with no declaration of charges," he intoned. "I'd like an explanation."

"Undeserving person, you say?" Jafar replied, glancing down at his work. He picked up his quill, and from his standing position, continued to write on the paper he had been working on. "You must mean that boy from the-" He paused, flipping a piece of parchment to check something, and let it fall back into place, "-the pilfered produce incident. I'm sorry to inform your highness, but he was a criminal of the state and therefore warranted arrest."

"For stealing an apple?" Jasmir scoffed. "You must be joking."

"On the contrary, my prince," Jafar said, straightening up. His quill fell to the desk, forgotten. "The boy is most famous among the city's underground. My guards have had him in their sights for quite a while. He has swindled every merchant in the marketplace, and has avoided arrest each and every time. It was only a matter of time before we infiltrated his nest. You can imagine our surprise to find your fugitive highness on the premises. I assure you, it is most likely that he had marked you as his next victim."

"That boy saved my life," Jasmir growled. "He wouldn't have done anything to me. If it weren't for him, I would have been dead at some misguided merchant's hand. If that doesn't deserve a royal pardon, I don't know what does."

Jafar's beady eyes glinted dangerously.

"Of course your highness would have at the very least a persuasive argument," he said smoothly, "But I regret to inform you that said argument is too late to be of any use. The boy's sentence has already been carried out."

Jasmir's blood ran cold and his mouth went dry.

"Sentence?" he repeated, expending all of his effort to keep his expression under control. There weren't very many varieties of punishment according to Agrabah law, but as had already been proven, Jasmir didn't know all of them. The ones he did know did not leave him hopeful.

He could have sworn that Jafar looked almost pleased with himself, as he answered Jasmir's implied question.

"Death," he said softly. "Beheading, to be precise."

_Death._

_Death._

_Death._

The sound of Jafar's oily voice echoed in the prince's ears. For a moment, the entire universe seemed to stop in its tracks. Jasmir felt like shivering from head to toe as the shock set in. The room was spinning, and unwanted flashes of Ali's face danced through his mind.

"I am exceedingly sorry, my prince," came the sickening voice of the Royal Vizier as he resumed his seat. "Had I but known- but I'm afraid there is nothing to be done now."

Jasmir clenched his fists, willing the strong ache developing in his chest to go away. His head was pounding. "Of course not," he muttered, blinking his eyes rapidly to try and banish the visions.

"Will that be all, or may I assist your highness with something else?" Jafar drawled.

Without a word- for he truly didn't think he could bring himself to speak –the prince turned on his heel and made for the door. As quickly as he could without raising suspicion, he took off for his own chambers. The sooner there was a wall and a door between him and the rest of the world, the better.

The Royal Vizier smirked to himself as Jasmir vanished out of sight, the large doors swinging closed behind him once more.

* * *

><p>The haunting thoughts that plagued the prince's mind almost paled in comparison to those that drifted through Ali's. Surprisingly still in one piece, the street rat was at that moment shackled to a wall in the palace dungeon. It was a cold, dark tower, with solid stone walls to keep its prisoners inside. The only light came from a single barred window, which was so high on the stony wall that even the tallest man could not have reached it. The walls beneath it were scratched and worn from constant attempts to scale it, but the iron bars that were still in place indicated that none had succeeded. Pale moonlight shone through the window, casting the depressing shadows of its bars across the dungeon (for added ambience).<p>

Alone at the base of the tower, Ali fought to find a semi-comfortable position, as her hands had been yanked up above her head and shackled there, locking her in a sitting position on the cold stone floor. Her backside was sore and her wrists were chafing horribly. _I suppose there really isn't a point to keeping prisoners comfortable_, she thought wryly. _Not for the little while they'll actually be here_.

Unlike Jasmir, Alidah had a fairly clear idea of what lay in store for her. There were stories of those who had been taken up by the guard. A prison sentence was usually only the first act, leading up to the second: an appointment with the executioner. The fact that she seemed to be the only prisoner currently being held made that possibility all the more likely.

Bitter and angry memories danced through Ali's head, reminding her why and how she had come to be here, from the days before she had ever become Ali the street rat to the moment they slammed the dungeon door.

"I'm trying, mama," Ali mumbled to herself, trying to quiet the voices in her head. "I'm trying to do what you said, to make you proud. I guess this one's just too big for us." Her eyes stung, but Ali refused to cry. It just wasn't her style. Her mother had wanted her to be strong and support herself with her own power, and becoming a crying mess at the first sign of trouble would not help anything. However, that didn't mean she was any less upset.

"I'm such an _idiot_," Ali shouted, slamming her heels against the stone floor. Pain blossomed in her feet, but she didn't care. "I really thought I had a chance to make things better, and then...I just _blew it_ like that...he was the _prince_..."

Her not-so-inner monologue was suddenly interrupted by a familiar chittering sound from above. Despite her situation, a grim smile set in on Ali's face. Perhaps no man could reach the barred window overhead...but a monkey, it seemed, could.

"Down here, Abu," she called softly. The shadow of the little monkey bounced from wall to wall as he made his way down to his partner's side. The chinks and grooves in the wall provided him handholds where a man could never find one. Within minutes, Abu was on the ground, and busily working at the shackles on Ali's wrists with a small metal pick. While he worked, he used his vocabulary of squeaks and screeches to let Ali know just what he thought of the new 'friend' that had gotten her captured here.

"It wasn't his fault, Abu," Ali answered sharply. "He wouldn't have tried to help if he'd wanted us caught." Her breath hitched in her throat as she remembered the look on his face- not when he'd looked at her, but when he faced down Captain Razoul. The naïve 'new kid' she had rescued from the marketplace had, in less than a second, become the prince of Agrabah. Not just any old boy with a title, but he had really _felt_ like a prince. He was powerful and strong on the inside, the kind of person who willingly faced injustice without fear. Those people were so _rare_ in Agrabah. It was the kind of authority Ali could only dream of.

Why then, was he on the run? Was he an idiot who couldn't see what kind of person he truly was?

"_It's my father. He's got this crazy idea that if I don't get married soon, he'll die and the...family business...will fall to pieces. Allah forbid I be a competent person on my own. I don't know what he thinks a wife would do for me that I don't already do myself."_

Ali's head jerked up when she figured it out. He wasn't running because he was scared, she realized. He was running to find another way.

It was the only explanation that made sense. If the Sultan refused to let him rule without finding a wife, and he truly didn't want to marry a stranger, then there was nothing else for him to do at the palace- any solution would have to be found elsewhere. He almost had no choice but to leave. He couldn't gain anything by staying, the status quo had to change. Perhaps Jasmir thought there was something in the city that could help him, some other option. Or quite honestly, Ali couldn't have blamed him if he chose to leave rather than be ignored and forgotten. That, at least, was a choice that left him his dignity.

"Poor guy," Ali rasped, chuckling to herself. "He's in a bit of a pinch, isn't he."

Abu screeched at her, beating his little fist against the top of her head as the shackle bar swung open. "What, Abu?" Ali ask grumpily as he arms fell back to her sides. She rubbed at her wrists as the blood rushed back to her arms and hands. "It's not like we're ever going to see him again or anything. We're street rats. He doesn't need help from a couple of fools like us."

"_You're only a fool if you give up, boy..."_

Both Ali and Abu jumped a mile at the sound of a third hissing, eerie voice from the shadows. Until now, Ali had been convinced that she was alone in this dungeon, but it sounded like that wasn't the case at all. She was on her feet in a moment, wary as a startled cat.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "Show yourself."

Out of the darkness came a hobbling elder man. He was skin and bones, as most prisoners are, and his white hair and beard had grown long in age. His back was hunched, and he had a twisted and bent wooden walking stick in one hand. He looked like a living skeleton, with dark circles under his eyes and mottled skin. His snaggly teeth stuck out at all angles, some of them false and made of gold. Just a look at him left Ali shivering.

"I'm just a lowly prisoner like yourself," the wizened old man cackled, pointing at her with his walking stick. "But together..." His creepy eyes widened. "We could be more."

Not seeing any other immediate options, Ali crossed her arms and cocked her hip. Abu jumped up to her shoulder, eyeing the old man suspiciously. "I'm listening," Ali said cautiously.

The old man inched closer. "There is a cave, boy," he hissed. "A Cave of _Wonders_, filled with treasures beyond your wildest dreams."

Ali opened her mouth to scoff at him, but found herself silenced when he reached into his filthy prisoner's shirt and withdrew a small handful of red gemstones. They sparkled like rubies, or garnets. In his hand was treasure enough to capture the attention of any street rat in Agrabah...and he said there was a cave with _more?_

It had to be the most suspicious thing Ali had ever heard. Unfortunately, she had no alternate way of getting out of the prison, which put her between a rock and a dead place. She and Abu traded very, very apprehensive glances, before turning back to the creepy man.

"Why would you just offer to share all of this treasure with me?" Ali said, raising a brow. "I can't get you out of this cell if that's what you think."

The old man shook his head, his leering smile firmly in place as he stowed the gemstones back in his shirt. "I just need a young pair of legs and a strong back to go in after it," he said. "These old bones just aren't what they used to be."

"Did you have a plan for getting us out of here then?" Ali demanded.

Shivers drifted up her spine as the walking skeleton grinned toothily at her. "But of course," he said oozily. He lifted his walking stick and tapped it lightly against the prison wall. The sound of grating rock echoed through the dungeon. Where the old geezer had touched it, the stone shivered, and then slid aside to reveal a worn set of stone steps, leading off into the darkness. Ali's eyes went wide. A hidden passage? How could he possibly have known such a thing was there?

"Things aren't always what they seem," the old man chided her. "Sometimes, if you play your cards right, you'll find a diamond in the rough."

He winked, then turned on his knobbly little legs and hobbled into the passage. Abu chattered nervously. "I know," Ali said, reaching up to pet the little monkey on the head. This didn't necessarily sit well with either of them, but they didn't have much of a choice. The only other option was to stay here and wait for death. Still, this conniving old man probably didn't know that he was attempting to fool one of Agrabah's brightest urchins.

"We'll just have to keep both eyes open on this one," Ali muttered.

Eyes determined, she ducked into the passageway and down the stone stairs after her new companion. Behind her, rocks grated once more. The mystical moving stone slid back into place.

As surely as if they had been whisked away by magic, the two prisoners vanished into the night.

* * *

><p>After Jasmir's little 'disappearing act' earned him the unending watchful gaze of the entire palace staff, it was understandable that he would be somewhat irritated. At first, that was all anyone thought it was. It took six whole hours of silence from Jasmir's room before the Sultan seemed to realize that his son was in one of his 'moods' again. <em>Might be a record<em>, Jasmir thought wryly to himself. His father was knocking incessantly on the door, calling his name.

The prince himself was languidly draped across the chaise lounge in his room, with his faithful pet Rajah curled up on the floor at his feet. The entire room was done up in green and gold, with plush rugs and down pillows scattered around. Calla lilies in pots decorated the large writing table, and their light scent drifted through the air in lieu of an incense burner. It was a very _comfortable_ space, in Jasmir's mind. He had spent years getting rid of the things he didn't like, leaving only the simplistic beauty he enjoyed.

Jasmir let a hand fall down to absently scratch behind Rajah's ears. His eyes, however, were miles away.

"Jasmir!" came his father's voice from the other side of the door. "Jasmir, what's going on? You haven't come out for hours, what on earth are you doing?"

"Holler all you want," the prince muttered rebelliously to himself.

"I know you're there, Jasmir," his father called more insistently. "Now you can either come out or let me in. I'll stand here all night if I have to!"

For a moment, silence ruled. The royal house of Agrabah was well-known for its stubborn nature- the question was, between the two of them, who would hold out longer? Neither Sultan nor prince cared for being uncomfortable.

Rajah picked up his head and whined pointedly. He, it seemed, wasn't interested in waiting around for the stubbornness contest to end. Growling, Jasmir got his feet. "Traitor," he accused the cat as he crossed to the door.

Jasmir eased open the door, knowing his father's tendency to barrel in where he wasn't necessarily wanted. "You know, usually when someone refuses to come to the door, it means they aren't interested in talking," he said, his tone falsely amicable.

"What in Allah's name is the matter, Jasmir?" the Sultan asked, avoiding his son's snark. The little man's dark eyebrows were creased with worry. "First you disappear, and then they tell me you've been found running around in the _city_, and now this!" He placed a hand on Jasmir's arm. The prince didn't pull away as he usually would have done.

"I'm concerned," the Sultan said, his tone softening.

_Now_ you're concerned? Jasmir's mind screamed. "I don't understand what argument you can possibly have with my wanting to see the city I'm intended to rule," he said calmly. The Sultan pushed his way into the room, searching about for some obvious explanation for his son's behavior. He saw only the same old ordinary room.

"Of course I think you should see it," the Sultan agreed slowly, "But you could have simply asked." He turned his warm gaze on Jasmir, who shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

"I know you better than you think, my boy," the Sultan said knowingly. "There's more to this. Now tell me what's upset you, and we'll go about setting it right."

Jasmir sighed. It was so hard dealing with his father when he was being like this. Try as he might to be annoyed and hate him, the Sultan was a good man, and a good father. He really did want what was best for his son, and his good intentions often made it difficult to paint him as a villain.

The prince dropped back onto his couch, resuming his petting of the tiger at its feet. "There's nothing you can do about it," he said resignedly. "I did something incredibly stupid, and there's no fixing it. Jafar's made sure of that."

"Jafar?" the Sultan asked, confused. He took a seat next to his son, carefully avoiding stepping on Rajah's tail. "What's he got to do with this?"

"Ask him," Jasmir said bitterly. "Ask _him_ what business he's got with sentencing people to death for less than petty crimes. I see all too well why the city is so corrupt now. That _snake_ may not be responsible alone, but it's people like him at the root of the problem."

"What on earth are you talking about?" the Sultan asked. "Who's sentenced to death?"

Before Jasmir knew it, the entire story had come out. He told his father the (almost) whole truth- how he had met Ali, and how the street rat had come to his unfortunate demise at the hand of the Royal Vizier himself. He did keep Ali's critical words about Agrabah to himself. "You should have seen him, Father," Jasmir said, drawing his knees in close to his chest. "He didn't even have food to eat, but he was still so _alive_. Of course stealing is wrong, we all know it- but he was arrested and killed just for wanting food. How does anyone deserve that?"

The Sultan sighed. "You know as well as I do that the world isn't fair, Jasmir," he said quietly. He placed a hand on his son's back, tracing comforting circles with his palm. "We have to uphold the law, even when it hurts to do it."

"But it was my fault he was caught," Jasmir said resentfully. "If I hadn't been there, if the guards hadn't been looking for _me,_ he would still be alive. Am I supposed to just go on like normal now?" His hands clenched themselves into fists. Rajah's tail began switching back and forth restlessly. "He didn't even get a trial. One man with power decided he needed to die. One man, who had never even seen his face before. Tell me why we allow this sort of thing to happen."

"It wasn't your fault, Jasmir," the Sultan reprimanded him. "It's just how the law works. It's how it's always been. You can't just change an entire kingdom overnight. The royal house is meant to follow the written law, that's our purpose."

The prince's brows twitched, and his eyes took on a glassy sheen. "It's not _my_ purpose," he whispered. "It can't be."

"What?" his father asked.

Jasmir sat up, swinging his legs off the couch. His mouth was set in a determined line. "I _said_, it's not my purpose," he repeated. His voice was a low rumble in his chest. "If that's the way this city works...then I don't know if I want to be a prince anymore."

The very air between them went quiet. "Be serious, Jasmir," the Sultan said with a nervous chuckle.

"Father, I _am_ serious," Jasmir said sharply. "I have always _been_ serious, it's you who chooses when my words mean nothing to you. Now, if you'll excuse me, it seems I have much to think about." He stood, and crossed to the door, indicating that his father should leave.

Too stunned to speak, the Sultan got to his feet. He swayed for a moment, then tottered from the room.

"I will let you know my decision by my birthday," Jasmir said quietly, and closed the door.

He didn't emerge for the rest of the night.

* * *

><p>For the first twenty minutes or so, Ali reveled in the fact that the creepy old man's secret passage had indeed led them to freedom. For some reason, the sky looked so different now. It was dotted with the stars that the street rat thought she would never see again. It was actually somewhat beautiful.<p>

The next two hours spent dragging their feet through half a sandstorm out in the desert were not beautiful at all. Abu took to hiding himself in the safety of Ali's shirt, out of the harsh wind, but Ali herself had nowhere to hide. The old man had from somewhere produced a ragged-looking horse, and was perched upon its back, calling directions. Ali held the horse's reins tightly in her fist, and pulled it along as she trudged through the sand. At least it was night, and they didn't have to fear the exposure of the sun- though the wind was cold this late in the desert.

Eventually, the wind died down a little. Shortly after, the old man called out for Ali to stop. He slithered down from the horse's back, and grinned toothily at her. "We're here," he said gleefully.

Ali blinked. She glanced around, and saw nothing but sand in all directions. "And where exactly is 'here'?" she asked coldly. "I don't see anything."

He raised a wizened finger and gestured for her to wait. With his other hand, from inside his ratty shirt he drew a pair of small brassy figurines. Closer inspection revealed that they were actually two halves of a figurine, a little gold and jeweled beetle. When the two halves were pressed together, Ali saw what she was supposed to wait for.

The little beetle glowed golden, and launched itself into the air. With the speed of a real flying insect, it zoomed off of its own accord. Midair, it split itself once more, and buried its two glowing halves into a nearby sand dune. The ground began to quake. As Ali watched in awe, the sand dune grew, rising out of the desert. The two glowing jewels became eyes, as the sand flowed and stuck, forming itself into the shape of an enormous tiger's head. It had to have been the size of a building, towering over the humans like a mythical beast of legend.

In the back of her shirt, Abu shivered, as Ali gulped. The giant thing opened its massive jaws in a yawn, then narrowed its beady eyes at her.

"_**Who disturbs my slumber?"**_ it thundered, its mystical voice reverberating through the air.

"Tell it your name," hissed the old man.

Ali swallowed nervously. It wasn't very day one introduced themselves to a giant magic tiger made of sand. Still, she gathered together her bravado, and approached.

"It is I," she called, the strange formal words feeling alien on her tongue. "Ali. Street thief of Agrabah."

The tiger breathed heavily. _**"Proceed,"**_ it rumbled, and opened its maw wide. There between its teeth, where rightfully a tongue should have been, lay a set of stone steps. From inside the tiger's mouth came a golden glow, from the treasure-filled cave that lay beyond.

"_**Touch nothing but the lamp,"**_ the tiger-cave added darkly.

The lamp. The purpose of this entire ridiculous mission. Still, Ali had bargained that lamp for her life. The old man had gotten her out of prison...now it was time to make good on her end of the deal. With resolve in her mind and a monkey shivering with fear on her shoulder, Alidah stepped toward the cave.

"Remember, boy," the old man shouted after her. "First, fetch me the lamp. And then you shall have your reward!"

Ali turned back. "A deal's a deal!" she called firmly.

"Come on, Abu," she hissed out of the corner of her mouth. "Let's go."

Thief and monkey disappeared into the maw of the tiger-beast, down to the Cave of Wonders. The creepy old man grinned to himself, and settled in to wait.

Everything was going according to plan.


End file.
